


Royal Pain

by withthepilot



Series: Prince Charming [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination Attempt(s), Bodyguard, Break Up, M/M, Modern Royalty, Morning Sex, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only a few months after Prince Jim's twenty-first birthday when McCoy's other major life obligation comes back into the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of a story I wrote looong ago, "[Prince Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/146291)," which was revived by an [amazing gifset](http://withthepilot.tumblr.com/post/54604757361/bonesys-star-trek-au-mccoy-has-been-jims) on Tumblr a while back. After that, I got to thinking about how I could dip back into the universe again. I came up with something, but I didn't have the time to accomplish it all this year. 
> 
> So now this is the second part of a series and if you read it, you'll probably get to the end and feel like shaking me for where I stopped. But I promise I will continue! It won't be tomorrow, but it will happen. So, if you hate cliffhangers, you might want to hold off on reading and don't say I didn't warn you. :)
> 
> Dedicated to everyone who gave me such massive positive feedback on the original fic. Fills the "AU: royalty/aristocracy/feudal" square on my Trope Bingo round 3 card.

“Hey, Bones. Bones.”

“Hrmph. Wha?”

“We should totally have morning sex. Y’know, since we’re already awake.”

McCoy muffles a groan into Jim’s bicep and tries to will the morning away. It’s no real use, since his phone happened to start ringing at seven in the goddamn morning—thanks a lot, “unavailable” number—and McCoy made the mistake of opening his eyes to the annoyingly bright sunlight streaming in through Jim’s large, opulent bedroom windows. McCoy typically keeps his phone on vibrate, in order to avoid situations like these, but sometimes Jim will sneak it away and set his ringtone to something loud and obnoxious. McCoy’s explained to him more than once that bodyguards are meant to be covert and that it doesn’t do anyone any good when his phone starts playing “Rock Lobster” in public, but Jim will be Jim. Today’s selection was “Smack My Bitch Up,” which, just…no. Also, _why_.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles. “Scotty doesn’t serve breakfast until nine and I fully intend to sleep until that time, like a normal human being.”

“It was _your_ phone that woke me up.”

“Your stupid ringtone.”

“C’mon. You’re the help. It’s your job to service me.” Jim grins until McCoy lifts his head enough to give him a deadly glare. “Okay, it’s clearly too early for jokes.”

McCoy sighs and rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, trying to wake himself up. He doesn’t particularly care for _those_ kind of jokes, ever, because he knows all too well that it’s a little screwy for a prince to be sleeping with his bodyguard. The press has never gotten wind of it but that’s only thanks to an intense amount of discretion and security. He probably shouldn’t even be sleeping in the kid’s bedroom, given how invasive the paparazzi can be, but Jim is the convincing type. After a few weeks of worry, McCoy gave up on arguing the issue. He still has his own room, of course, but it’s mostly a repository for things he doesn’t need everyday, like books and off-season clothing. He’s practically moved into Jim’s master bedroom by now, his clothes and belongings stored in their own closet and chest of drawers.

It makes Jim happy, is the thing, and part of McCoy’s job is to keep Jim happy. As an added bonus, it also makes McCoy happy. He’ll never say so out loud but he’s pretty sure Jim knows as much. He looks down at Jim, naked as the day he was born and sporting the beginnings of an impressive—yeah, it’s impressive, and the kid knows it, too—erection. 

“Not too early for other things, I guess,” McCoy says, smirking at Jim’s morning wood. Jim pouts and stretches at the same time, obviously showing off.

“It’s your fault. You’re all warm and sexy and in my bed.”

“Yeah?” McCoy leans in to kiss Jim’s enticingly full lips. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” Jim clasps McCoy’s neck and kisses him again. “Because I’m awesome.” And again. “Please? We actually have time to spare, for once, and I want you.”

Warmth begins to flood into McCoy’s gut. Like he can ever say no to Jim anyway, let alone when he asks for something so sweetly. He licks across Jim’s bottom lip and relishes the answering sigh.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“On top of me.” Jim starts pulling at McCoy’s arms. “Inside me.”

“Jesus,” McCoy murmurs, barely suppressing a shudder. He kisses his way down Jim’s jaw and the curve of his neck, humming at the raspy feel of Jim’s stubble. It distracts Jim nicely, and he groans in genuine surprise when McCoy slips a hand between his thighs, sliding gentle fingertips between Jim’s ass cheeks. It’s hot, slick. McCoy’s own cock takes a distinct interest in the proceedings and this time, he can’t hold back the shudder. He dips one fingertip inside Jim, testing the waters. “You still open for me, from last night? Or do I need to stretch you again?”

“M’good, I think,” Jim says. His muscles clench around McCoy’s finger at first, but then he breathes deeply and relaxes. McCoy slides his full finger inside easily, then adds another. Jim moans and slides his hands over McCoy’s back and chest, trying to touch him everywhere. “I’m _really_ good.”

McCoy smirks and kisses his throat, withdrawing his fingers carefully. “Yeah, you are. Hold on, just lemme get a—”

“Ugh, no, come on. Why? We’ve been doing this for months!”

“Jim, it’s important,” McCoy says. While Jim has been able to convince him of most anything, McCoy has stood firm on the condom issue. He isn’t sure why—he’s clean and Jim’s been tested, too, now that he’s set his former playboy status aside—but it just seems like something they ought to do. “We’ll stop eventually, okay?”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jim frowns and McCoy thinks he can see some hurt behind his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Bones. You’re the only one I want. I’ve wanted you since I was _sixteen_.”

McCoy swallows. “I know that, Jim. I know you wouldn’t.”

“So why are we waiting?”

“Well…fine,” McCoy says. He huffs and gets the lube, squirting a good amount into his hand. Then he strokes his cock a few times, lining their hips together. “But don’t blame me if you get the clap.”

Jim grins lazily. “Bones, do you have the clap?”

“No. But you know what I mean.” He looks up at Jim with narrowed eyes. “And do _not_ tell your mother about this.”

“Please don’t mention my mother when you’re about to stick your dick in me,” Jim says, groaning. He wraps his legs around McCoy’s waist and pulls him forward. They both gasp when the bare, wet head of McCoy’s cock nudges against Jim’s entrance. “Stop making me wait already. I need you, Bones.”

McCoy can’t say no to that. “It’s gonna feel different,” he warns. As if Jim’s not going to like it. Then he starts pushing inside and his entire world narrows to the gorgeous sight of Jim’s face. Jim, who always looks like he’s being fucked for the very first time when they do this, his mouth slack and eyes wide with wonder as he adjusts to the feeling of being filled; like he just can’t believe it’s happening. McCoy imagines he must be mirroring Jim’s expression right now, what with the lack of anything preventing him from experiencing all of Jim’s tight, unbelievable heat.

“Fuck you for not letting us do this sooner,” Jim says in an exhaled rush. He reaches up and runs both hands through McCoy’s hair, moaning when McCoy bottoms out. “Holy shit, Bones.”

“I know,” McCoy says. He’s trembling, doing his best not to just give in to the amazing clutch of Jim’s body and pound into him mercilessly. They’re doing this, they’re really _doing_ this, and he wants to take his time. He runs one thumb down Jim’s cheekbone and across his wet mouth, then slides it against one pert pink nipple. Jim’s entire body jerks in response. “You’re so…damn it. I don’t even have words for you, Jim. You goddamn beautiful, royal pain.”

Jim huffs a laugh and kisses McCoy’s jaw. “Yeah, I love you, too, Bones. Now please fuck me before my dick falls off.”

So McCoy proceeds to do exactly that. He fucks Jim slowly and thoroughly, pulling out every trick up his sleeve to take the kid apart. And, judging by Jim’s reaction, McCoy thinks it’s a very good thing they got this bedroom soundproofed a few months ago. McCoy does everything he can to hold off for as long as possible—he needs Jim to come first, _needs_ to see him when it happens—and when Jim does come, it’s with his legs wrapped tightly around McCoy’s torso and his back bowing off the bed, a look of utter bliss and surprise on his face as he tightens around McCoy’s length. That sinful feeling, combined with the sight of Jim’s torso mottled with spit, come, and a rosy, all-over flush, proves to be too much to take. McCoy nearly sobs as he empties himself into Jim’s body, giving into an orgasm that seems to last for ages. As far as he’s concerned, Jim can have all of him, every last bit. It’s why he’s here. It’s why he lives and breathes.

They stay just like that for a few minutes, breathing hard and tangled up in each other. When McCoy finally tries to move, Jim tightens his legs around him.

“Gonna be sore all day,” McCoy murmurs, kissing Jim’s ear.

“And it’ll be great. Stay in me.”

“Don’t come whining to me when you can’t sit still at your fancy royal luncheon today and your mother is giving you dirty looks across the table.”

Jim laughs and cards his fingers through McCoy’s hair. “You really know how to spoil the mood, Bones.”

McCoy smiles into the sweaty, fragrant warmth of Jim’s neck. “I dunno. I think we’re still okay.”

*

Jim can’t sit still at the fancy royal luncheon. He keeps shifting in his chair and adjusting the napkin on his lap. Winona glares at him and then shoots a dirty look in McCoy’s direction, as if she knows _exactly_ what’s transpired. McCoy does his best to look innocent but he knows there’s really no use. Across the table, Winona’s old friend, Alexander, the Duke of Marcusia, doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on. His daughter, Princess Carol, however, is all quiet giggles as she watches Jim squirm.

“Sorry,” Jim says, smiling apologetically. “Feeling a little restless today.”

“I apologize for Jim’s manners,” Winona says pointedly. “It’s almost as if no one ever taught him how to conduct himself at a luncheon.”

“No apologies necessary,” Alexander says, waving a hand. “It’s just us. I thought it’d be nice to spend some time together and catch up. It’s been years since the kids have seen each other, after all.”

“Yes, I think Carol was only fourteen the last time we got together. Carol, you must be in university by now.”

Carol nods, the ends of her perfect blond bob swaying. “Yes. I’m studying applied physics. It’s fascinating.” She looks over at Jim and gives him a teasing smile. “What about you, Jim? Are you enrolled anywhere?”

“I was but I finished early.”

“And what did you study?” she asks, looking intrigued.

Jim shrugs and sips his tea. “A little of this, little of that. I cobbled together my own major. They let me do whatever I want. To be honest, it was pretty boring.”

Winona frowns. “Nevertheless. Jim not only finished early, but he also graduated at the top of his class.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Alexander says. “You were always a smart cookie, Jim. Just like your dad.”

Jim’s shoulders hunch, the way they always do when someone brings up his father. McCoy can’t blame him. How is Jim supposed to react to a comment like that when he never even knew his father? He watches as Jim basically withdraws from the conversation, keeping quiet and drifting off. When Scotty and his gaggle of servers arrive with plates of salad, swarming the table, McCoy catches Jim’s eye from his side of the room. He gives Jim a soft smile and rolls his eyes, trying his best to commiserate. Jim smiles back, perking up immediately.

Just as Scotty begins to describe the contents of the first course, McCoy’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Luckily, he remembered to silence the damn ringtone after breakfast. When he looks at the screen, he sees it’s the same damn unavailable number that’s been calling all morning. He assumed it was a telemarketer or something but, hell, it might be important. McCoy whispers to Spock that he has an important phone call and then gestures to Jim that he’ll be right back. Jim, in turn, quirks a curious eyebrow as McCoy excuses himself from the room.

Once he finds a quiet hallway, away from the main dining room, McCoy presses the button to take the call.

“Leonard McCoy speaking. Who is this?”

“Leonard,” says an achingly familiar voice. “It’s Jocelyn.”

“Joce. Jesus Christ.” He exhales and curses himself for not picking up sooner. His ex doesn’t typically call him unless it’s his birthday or something is wrong, like she didn’t receive his monthly child support payment. “Was that you who’s been calling me all morning? Why aren’t you calling from your cell? Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t. My battery died and I’m waiting for my friend to bring me my charger, since I left it at home.” She pauses and sniffs loudly into the receiver. “I’m, um. I’m in the hospital.”

McCoy’s blood runs cold. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Joanna okay?”

“Joanna is fine, she’s great. It’s just…I’m sick, Len. I’m really, really sick. My life has suddenly taken a really weird and fucked-up turn and, well. I hate to ask, but. I need your help.”

“Start from the beginning,” McCoy says quietly. “Tell me everything.”

Ten minutes later, McCoy’s head is swimming. Jocelyn tells him all about her recent spate of dizzy spells, how she’s been fainting at home and at work and not knowing why. How she decided to get it checked out, and how one doctor’s visit turned into two, which turned into three and then an endless number of tests and scans. How if she doesn’t get surgery to remove the malignant tumor in her brain, and very soon, she might not live to see her next birthday. How the only doctors who can do the surgery are in a neighboring county, at least four hours away by train, tucked away in a special institute. How she might need to stay in treatment for a long, long time.

“You know I would never ask this if I really didn’t need you,” Jocelyn says, sounding tearful. “But someone has to take care of Joanna.”

“What about your parents?”

“They’re too far away. I would have to upend Jo’s entire life: pull her out of school; take her away from her friends… It’s bad enough that she has to deal with her mother going away for god knows how long.”

McCoy runs a hand over his face. He gets that. He doesn’t want to make Joanna’s life any more difficult than it has to be. She’s his daughter. And while he doesn’t get to see her more than a couple of times a year, she means the world to him. It was the way Jocelyn wanted it, raising Joanna on her own, and McCoy just…got used to not being in her life. Somehow, he found his way and made his own life. A good life, at that.

“Okay, but Joce,” he whispers. “What about my job?” _And what about Jim?_ his mind supplies. But Jocelyn doesn’t know about that. Aside from Winona and a few royal staff members sworn to secrecy, no one knows.

“Take a leave of absence. They’ll let you, won’t they? They adore you. I’m sure you can go back when this is all said and done.” She pauses and McCoy can hear her sniffling into her sleeve, the watery undertone to her voice. “I know I’m asking for a lot. And you don’t have to give me an answer right now. But please, think about it, Leonard. This is about family, your _real_ family. And I know the royals need you, but we need you more.”

McCoy shuts his eyes and sinks back against the wall, thinking of Joanna. Thinking of Jim. Thinking of Jocelyn in the hospital and how scared she must be, how his problems are small potatoes in comparison. It wouldn’t be forever—maybe six months? A year? Jim and Winona would understand, wouldn’t they?

“I’ll let you know soon,” he says. “I promise.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Jocelyn sighs, sounding relieved. “It might not be so bad, you know? Getting to spend time with Jo, cook her breakfast and take her to school every day. Could be lots of fun.”

“It sounds really fun,” McCoy admits. And he means it. Getting to spend that much quality time with his daughter sounds nothing less than amazing.

After he hangs up, he pulls up a photo of Joanna’s smiling face on his phone. He tries to burn it into his mind’s eye, to give him strength as he grapples with the monumental task before him: of breaking this to Jim now, after all that they’ve been through; of putting aside everything he’s been trusted to protect; of leaving Jim.

McCoy already knows it’s one of the hardest things he’ll ever have to do. 

*

“I just can’t stand that Alexander guy,” Jim says, fidgeting with his cufflinks. He looks at McCoy, sitting beside him in the backseat of the town car. “I know he and mom are friends but there’s something so smarmy about him, you know? He acts nice but he’s got this weird look about him, like he’s got a hidden agenda.”

“Uh huh,” McCoy says absently. 

“His daughter’s sweet, though. I think he wants me to go out with her. Not that I’m interested. Obviously.”

“Right.” McCoy gazes out the tinted window, half-listening. He’s preoccupied by his phone call with Jocelyn and what it will mean for his future—his future with Jim, that is. He looks up when Jim nudges his side.

“Hey, Bones. You with me?”

“Yeah, kid. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”

Jim gives him one of his patented grins that’s half-leer. “Like what, this morning? I mean, it’s understandable. My ass is pretty unforgettable.”

McCoy tries not to blush when he spies Sulu watching them in the rearview mirror. Out of everyone employed by the royal family, McCoy figures Sulu is most likely to know about his secret relationship with Jim. Sulu overheard the conversation they had on Jim’s birthday, after all, and he’s heard every word uttered in the town car since. And subtlety is not one of Jim’s outstanding qualities.

“Sirs, we’re about five minutes from our destination,” Sulu says, looking back at the road.

“Great,” McCoy says, scowling. What he’d really like to say is, _Mind your own goddamn business, Sulu_. He turns to Jim and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Don’t say stuff like that in the car. The man has ears like a bat.”

“Who, Sulu?” Jim whispers back. “He doesn’t care. I’ve had sex in this car; he’s not gonna be bothered by a comment about my ass. He’s _seen_ my—”

“ _Jim_.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I’m pretty sure he’s had sex in the car, too. Not that he’d ever admit it, but I asked him once and his ears turned super pink, so I’m pretty sure he was lying. It was cute, actually.”

“I’m so glad you have such a beautiful working relationship,” McCoy mutters.

“Aw, Bones. Are you jealous? Don’t be jealous.” Jim tugs gently on McCoy’s tie, teasing him. McCoy bats his hand away.

“Come on, Jim. What I’d just say?”

“What’s with you today?” Jim pouts and reaches up to adjust his own tie, glancing out the window. “You’ve been weird ever since lunch. Since you excused yourself to take that phone call, come to think of it. So what happened?”

McCoy sees the opening dangling right in front of him, but he just can’t take it. Not now, when they’re in the car and minutes away from this toys-for-guns charity event. McCoy thought it was crass of the organization to ask Jim to speak, given his father’s assassination, but Jim’s been pretty excited about it. Now that he’s old enough to start cultivating a public presence and brand, gun control has been at the top of his agenda, and he’s been speaking out more and more about the issue. Clearly this event means something to the kid and McCoy’s not going to shit all over it with his personal drama. Plus, they’re not going to solve anything in the next couple of minutes. It’s a conversation for later. He rubs the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s something, but we’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

Jim frowns. “You sure? I mean, if it’s bothering you…”

“It can wait. Your schedule is more important than my problems.”

“Seriously, Bones? You don’t actually think I believe that, do you? I’m not _that_ stuck-up and spoiled, contrary to popular belief.”

“I never said you were, Jim. But it’s my job to keep you on schedule and—”

“Sirs, we’ve arrived,” Sulu says, interrupting them. 

McCoy looks up and sees a typically large crowd gathered by the car: a writhing mass of young men and women waving photos and pens in the air, shrieking as they vie to get a glimpse of young Prince Charming himself, surrounded by frustrated and dumbfounded police officers. He sighs and wishes this thing weren’t happening today, that they could go back to the palace and talk in Jim’s bedroom and figure this mess out together. But Jim has obligations and so does McCoy, and number one on McCoy’s list is to protect Jim and watch out for him at all costs—at least until the moment he has to leave and go home to his ex-wife and daughter. And that moment is fast approaching. God, how is he even going to start to explain this to Jim?

Meanwhile, McCoy’s so busy thinking that he doesn’t notice his number-one priority exiting the car without him.

“Prince Jim!” Sulu calls from the front seat, scrambling out of the car. He’s right to be nervous; this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. McCoy is meant to exit first, always, in order to assess the immediate situation outside of the vehicle and to provide a cover for Jim to exit safely. Jim _knows_ the drill, too. Whether he hopped out first because he was mad at McCoy or worse—because McCoy wasn’t paying attention, and good lord, his whole _job_ is about paying attention—it doesn’t matter now. Jim has already been sucked into the crowd, signing autographs and flashing his thousand-watt smile for the cameras, preening like the megastar he is. McCoy grunts as he hustles to get out of the car and assume his usual stance by Jim’s side.

And that’s when he hears it: a gruff voice that he’ll never forget, not for as long as he lives.

“Take my gun over my dead body, you little shit!”

It happens so quickly. There’s an imposing man, shoving his way to the front of the crowd, zeroing in on Jim with a desperate, wild look in his eyes. And there’s a gun in his hand, the barrel lowering in Jim’s direction. The shout that McCoy emits feels ripped from his throat, leaving him in shreds, but it gets lost with the screams of the retreating crowd. 

McCoy reaches for his own gun, just as he’s been trained, not even thinking about it. But before he can lift his arm to properly aim and shoot, Sulu appears out of nowhere and rushes between Jim and the gunman. Then it’s a blur of limbs and an audible crack of broken bone, and McCoy can barely process what’s happening. The gun falls to the ground with a metallic clang and the police descend upon the would-be assassin, weapons out. McCoy runs over to Jim, just in time to catch him as he stumbles backwards, right into McCoy’s arms. He clutches Jim to his chest tightly, taking in his wide blue eyes and pale face.

“Jesus. Shit. Jim. You okay? Talk to me.”

“Where were you?” Jim says on an exhalation, a faint rasp of breath. It’s like a sucker punch to McCoy’s gut.

“I couldn’t—you ran out ahead of me, kid. You _know_ you’re not supposed to do that, goddamn it. How long have we been doing this thing together?” 

“I know,” Jim says, nodding. His eyes begin to brim with tears. “I’m sorry, Bones. I’m _sorry_.”

“God, me too, Jim. So fucking sorry.” 

Jim hiccups and starts to shake, the shock of the moment flooding through him. McCoy clutches Jim tighter and, well…fuck it. He kisses the side of Jim’s head, right in front of everyone and their goddamn camera phones. He buries his nose in Jim’s hair and takes a long moment to breathe in a familiar scent that was almost taken away from him. The roar of the crowd only seems to intensify after that, and McCoy tries his best to shield Jim from it. 

He knows it’s too little, too late.

Time seems to stand still after that. At some point, Sulu walks over, having pulled himself away from an endless amount of shoulder pats and congratulatory handshakes. 

“The police want to ask us some questions,” he says, looking grim. “They’ll escort our car to the nearest station.”

“Sulu, oh my god,” McCoy says, exhaling. “I don’t even know how to—”

“Just doing my job,” he says, waving a hand. McCoy knows Sulu doesn’t mean anything nasty by it, but a tight knot grows in his throat all the same. _More like doing_ my _job_ , he thinks. “Prince Jim, are you all right?”

“Yeah, but holy shit, Sulu,” Jim says, blinking up at him. “Where the hell did you learn to kick like that?”

Sulu’s ears turn a faint shade of pink. “Uh…taekwondo classes,” he says, shrugging. “When I was a kid. I guess it never really goes away.”

“Clearly not,” McCoy says.

It’s not until he’s back at the palace with a ton of police officials, waiting to give a statement, when McCoy remembers that “pretty cute” thing Jim told him earlier about Sulu.

He’s not so sure it’s as cute as Jim thinks.

*

Jim sleeps in his own room that night, given the ridiculous amount of media attention pointed squarely at the palace. A quick Google search back at home reveals that the press is already having a field day with McCoy’s ill-advised display of PDA. 

It’s just as well, since McCoy is up for most of the night, penning the worst thing he’s ever had to write: his resignation letter. The process of finding and writing each word is like stabbing himself in the thigh repeatedly with a penknife.

When he hands the letter to Winona the next morning, she blinks at him in disbelief.

“This is because of yesterday,” she says. “Isn’t it? Leonard, you have to know that I don’t blame you one bit. Jim jumped out of the car, he _knows_ he can’t ever do that again. I told him, this is why he _has_ a bodyguard in the first place.”

“It’s more than that, Win. I’m, uh…distracted.” McCoy chews on his lower lip, unable to make direct eye contact with her. “I’ve got this stuff going on back home and, well. I need to go anyway. I wasn’t sure how I was going to broach it with you two but now that I screwed the pooch on protecting Jim, there’s all the more reason for me to leave. The press is looking for a story and a scapegoat. So, they can just run with this.”

Winona’s eyes flash as she stands up. “Leonard, I’m _not_ making you into a scapegoat. This isn’t your fault.” She practically flings the letter back at him, turning her nose up. “And I don’t accept your resignation.”

“But Win,” McCoy says. His eyes feel glassy suddenly and he blinks extra hard to will away the stinging sensation. “I’m telling you: I really do have to go. My ex-wife is sick and my daughter needs me. It’s a family thing. It’s out of my control.”

“Sometimes I forget you have a daughter. It feels as though you’ve been with us your entire life.” Winona sighs, shaking her head. “Leonard, I do understand what you’re going through. But please don’t forget that we’re also your—”

He nearly flinches. “God, don’t say it. Don’t say it. I know, okay? I know, but.” He sniffs and shakes his head, holding the paper back out to her. “I have to do this. So just take it. Please.”

Winona exhales, her shoulders drooping. She reaches out for the letter and folds it with extra care, as though it’s a peace treaty. McCoy can swear she has tears in her eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the queen cry before. The idea that she would shed tears over him, of all people, is like another blow to the stomach—confirmation that the world is a truly unfair place.

“We’ll say it’s temporary,” she says. She nods firmly and waves a hand, as if to will away the tears. “Your people need you and we understand. But when it’s all resolved, your job will be right here, waiting for you. So I expect you to call me as soon as you’re ready to return to us. Understood?”

“Yes, of course, your highness,” McCoy says quietly, with a fair bit of awe. “Thank you. So much.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled.” Winona straightens her posture, looking completely unrattled and regal once again. She’s like magic, his queen. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Ah…” McCoy scuffs his shoe on the ground and winces. “You could tell Jim?”

Winona’s face darkens. “Oh, god. I’ll tell Scotty to start baking cookies now.”

*

McCoy tells himself over and over again that it’s going to be fine. Jim’s an adult now—almost twenty-two and coming into his own as the heir to an entire kingdom. Surely he can deal with a little bad news.

“Leonard, I heard of your departure,” Spock says, intercepting him on his way to Jim’s bedroom. He tugs lightly on the hem of his tailcoat and folds his arms behind him. “I want to assure you that I’ve placed a glass repair service on retainer, in case of any broken windows. Also, there is a fire extinguisher located in close proximity to the prince’s bedroom.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine,” McCoy says.

“You…will be missed,” Spock says, hesitating in the middle as though even _he_ can’t believe what he’s saying. But then they make eye contact and McCoy can tell that he means it, that the royal butler may have a glimmer of compassion hidden somewhere beyond that cold, passive façade.

“Appreciate that,” McCoy replies. It’s little more than a mumble as he continues his march to Jim’s room. “Thanks, Spock.”

About ten minutes later, he’s thinking he may need that fire extinguisher after all.

“I don’t get it,” Jim says, pacing back and forth across his room. “She can come here, can’t she? They both can! We have the best doctors in the entire country at our disposal! Why does she need to go to an institute?”

“Jim, it’s a highly specialized type of surgery. Not just anyone can do it.”

“Then we’ll pay them to come here! What do you need, money? Money is easy to get! Here.” Jim stalks up to McCoy, tugging one of his rings off his hand—a royal heirloom that once belonged to his father’s father, sparkling with gold and rubies. He thrusts it into McCoy’s hands. “This ring alone could pay for everything—travel, lodging, treatment—right? So take it!” 

McCoy blinks, incredulous and heartbroken. God, this kid. This _goddamn kid_. 

“Jim, I can’t take this. It’s priceless. Your father wore that ring, you can’t just—”

“I don’t care! Take it!” Jim shouts, tears springing to his eyes. He tries to fold McCoy’s fingers around it, even as McCoy struggles to get it back on Jim’s hand. “Damn it, Bones, why won’t you just let me do this for you?”

“Because it’s selfish, Jim!” Jim gapes at him, clearly offended, and McCoy grits his teeth, searching for the right words. “No, it’s selfish of _me_ , because…because it’s not just about _us_ , Jim. I had another life before you and the people in that life still exist. I can’t lie to myself and pretend that it’s just you and me and that’s all. I made choices before I met you, and maybe they weren’t the smartest choices, but now I have a daughter, who I love with all my heart. And I have a responsibility to that daughter. Where do you think my paycheck goes every month?”

Jim calms a little but he’s still trembling with anger, his hands entangled with McCoy’s and a hot tear sliding down his cheek. “You hardly ever talk about her. I barely know anything about her.”

“Because it’s too hard,” McCoy admits, his voice breaking. _I barely know her myself_ , he thinks but doesn't say. He places the ring gently inside Jim’s palm. “It’s just…too hard to talk about someone you love, who you hardly ever get to see. Easier just to act like she’s not a part of my life. But she is. And her mom and I need to do our best to make sure her life doesn’t fall apart because of what’s happening. She deserves that much.” He lifts Jim’s hand to brush a soft kiss over his knuckles. “Besides, if I wasn’t there, I’d be distracted all the time, thinking about Jo and Joce. And then I wouldn’t be able to protect you, and…well, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you on my watch.”

“Just bring her here,” Jim whispers. “She’d have a ball. I could _throw_ her a ball.”

McCoy laughs faintly, unable to help it. “And I know you would. But she’s got a pretty normal life and I wouldn’t want to spoil her like that.”

Jim bristles. “Wouldn’t want her to turn out like me, you mean.”

“Jim, that’s not—”

“No, it’s just like what you were saying in the car.” He wrenches his hands away from McCoy and turns his back. “All I do is make other people stick to my schedule and try to fix things with fancy parties, right? Clearly I’m far too spoiled to have any regard for other people’s problems.”

McCoy frowns, suddenly having trouble keeping his frustration at bay. “Well, I thought you would be more understanding about all this, so…I dunno, Jim. Maybe you are.”

"Someone tried to _kill_ me yesterday, Bones! I've been sitting in here alone ever since and trying to process _that_. And your response as my bodyguard—as my _boyfriend_ —is to pack up and leave?!”

“I know it's a bad coincidence, Jim, but...”

“Oh, Jesus." Jim looks back at him, his eyes squinty and red-rimmed. “It’s like you don’t even want to stay. You don’t, do you?”

“It’s not about what I want!”

“No, Bones, it is. Maybe you love me, maybe you don’t, but it doesn’t matter because what you _really_ want is to be the family martyr, right? You want to make up for not being the father you thought you should be. You’re not doing this for Joanna; you’re doing it for you.”

McCoy grabs Jim’s wrist tightly. “Jim, you don’t know _anything_ about it. Not a goddamn thing.”

“I know _you_ ,” Jim hisses. “I’m practically begging you to accept my help and you won’t, even though there’s no reason not to. So why else would that be?”

“Jim, I know you’ve led a sheltered life, but in the real world, you can’t just throw money at things to make them go away!” 

“Right,” Jim says quietly. He pulls away when McCoy’s grip slackens and slides his ring back onto his finger. “How stupid of me. Thanks for the reality check, Bones.”

McCoy exhales, running a hand over his face as he contemplates his next move. He knows he can’t leave it like this with Jim. He has to make it right somehow. He steps forward and places a careful hand on his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

“It…it’s not forever, Jim. Just temporary. Okay? Your mother already said I can have my job back after Jocelyn’s out of the woods, and I plan to take her up on that.”

“Yeah, don’t bother,” Jim whispers. 

“…What?”

“I don’t care what she said. It’s a permanent resignation.” He shakes off McCoy’s hand and spares him one last hurt look. “Enjoy your normal life.”

McCoy’s voice grows panicky as Jim’s words sink in. “I know why you’re doing this Jim,” he says, licking his lips. “I know it seems like it’ll be…easier, if you’re mad at me, if we leave it this way. But it’s not what either of us want and we both know it.”

“Yeah, easier,” Jim says, scoffing. “Don’t forget to clear out your closet and dresser.”

Jim stalks into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. McCoy stares after him, dumbfounded, then gazes at the bed, picturing them together. Picturing Jim. Suddenly, the beauty and tenderness of yesterday morning feels light years away. McCoy’s throat tightens as he considers just how much everything can change in a single day—just one long, terrible day.

“Goddamn it, Jim,” he mutters. He ignores the tears in his eyes as he leaves Jim’s bedroom for the last time.

*

Months later, McCoy sits in the living room of the house he once shared with Jocelyn, slumped back on the sofa. He drinks a beer and divides his attention between the rugby match on TV and his daughter, who’s sitting by the coffee table and coloring. He can’t help but smile, watching Joanna amuse myself. She’s such a great girl and McCoy knows he’s lucky to have this time with her. He’s already missed out on so much, working at the palace and only having the time to visit her a few times each year.

Jocelyn’s surgery went as well as could be expected, though the last he heard from the institute was two days before and the news wasn’t terrific—her status along the lines of ‘things sometimes get worse before they get better.’ They’re due for a visit this weekend, which is mostly so Jocelyn can see Joanna. McCoy feels uncomfortable going there but he knows it’s important. He knows it’s his duty.

He hasn’t heard from Jim at all since he left the palace. Not one word.

“Daddy, this is boring,” Joanna says, pouting at him. “Can we watch something else?”

“Sure, kiddo.” 

He wasn’t paying much attention to the game anyway. He changes the channel, tuning in to a special news report on the royal family. What he sees makes his heartbeat skid: footage of Jim, _his_ Jim, attending an event, hand in hand with Princess Carol of Marcusia. 

“Oh, god,” he rasps, moving to change the channel again.

“No, I want to see that! Please, Daddy, can we watch it?”

“I…yeah, okay.”

And so they watch. McCoy can’t take his eyes off Jim, dressed to the nines and clearly besotted with Princess Carol, who looks effortlessly elegant and exquisite at his side. He supposes Jim changed his mind about not being interested in her. They make a gorgeous couple. In fact, they’re so beautiful together that something in McCoy wants to keel over and die.

 _All eyes are on the young prince and his stunning princess these days_ , the announcer says, the gossip practically dripping from her voice. _And lately, the question is not_ if _James will pop the question…but_ when.

“The prince is so handsome,” Joanna says, interrupting McCoy’s reverie. She climbs into his lap and smiles. “It must have been _so_ much fun working for him. Do you miss it?”

McCoy swallows as he watches Jim and Carol get into Sulu’s town car, Jim giving the crowd one last wave before the door shuts. Then the car drives off, sending him somewhere far away—even farther from McCoy than he was before. McCoy tries to remember how it was waking up next to Jim every morning, not to mention all of the madcap years he spent running after the kid, prior to his twenty-first birthday. Sometimes, McCoy looks around at his newly familiar surroundings and wonders if it ever happened at all—if he’s been here the whole time and his entire life at the palace was just a crazy, whirlwind dream. If a beautiful prince never actually loved him, never did look at him like he hung the moon.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, when the lump in his throat subsides and he trusts himself to speak. “I miss it a lot.”

Joanna looks up at him with big eyes. “The next time you go back to visit, can you _please_ take me with you?”

McCoy goes back to the rugby match, nodding and rubbing her back. 

“Next time I go,” he says. “I promise.”

It’s not completely a lie—if McCoy were still welcome at the royal palace, if Jim still needed him or even remotely wanted him—he would certainly do it. He would go back in a heartbeat. And he’d take Joanna with him, just like Jim said. But now, well. He knows better now.

McCoy holds his daughter tightly in his lap and drinks his beer, sinking further into the growing chasm of his normal life.


End file.
